


016 - Forgotten Birthdays

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “can U do angst where van forgets your birthday or anniversary”





	016 - Forgotten Birthdays

When Van first started to tour for longer periods of time, the expectations for the relationship changed. You knew he'd be busy, distracted, but he was so happy and doing so well that it was okay. You were worried you'd feel jealous or lonely, but you didn't. You liked having time alone, and when he was home it just made everything more glorious and technicoloured. Maybe the thing that made you so assured in the relationship was the fact that he never forgot dates. He'd never missed your birthday, your anniversary, or any other day that was highlighted on the calendar. There was always packages waiting at home for you on those days, and you always felt loved. Living in that state of bliss though, set the fall up to be worse.

Your best friend broke the news that she wouldn't be there for your birthday a few days before. You hadn't organised a party or anything, so it was fine, and Van would be home a few days after it too. You opted for lowkey and when people asked what the go was, you said maybe you'd do drinks. Friday rolled around, the big day, and your coworkers had a cake made for you. You were trying to work out the timezone difference between Van and you when they put the cake on your desk and started to sing. When you cut into the cake it spewed M&Ms all over the plate.

On the tube home you could feel the nervous anticipation in your body. Van hadn't messaged or called yet, but you knew there would be something on your doorstep. Often it would be dropped there by his parents if he was worried about the timing of the postal system. Where the stairwell met the hallway outside your unit, you stopped dead. You could see your door from where you stood, and there was nothing outside of it. Your stomach did a flip, but you told yourself maybe something was inside somehow, or that it was just late being delivered.

As the minutes turned into hours and the daylight turned inky with darkness, a feeling of disappointment grew. Stop overreacting, you told yourself. Just after dinner time your phone rang and your heart skipped a beat. Although guilty for feeling it, you were let down when MARY flashed up on the phone's screen. You didn't mention to her that her son had failed to call you yet, and if she knew anything about other plans she didn't let on. She wanted you to come around for afternoon tea on Sunday, you agreed. After, and later, you stayed up for as your body would allow and then fell into a fitful sleep.

Saturday morning was no better. You sat on the couch and drank tea, waiting for anything. By midday you had more text messages from friends, but that was it. You went for a walk around the block in the afternoon, and it only made your mood worse. When you came back to the unit you slammed the door behind you. The disappointment was turning rancid, and anger was bubbling in the muck of emotion. You sent a group message out saying that you felt ill, and drinks were cancelled.

The sun had barely appeared over the cityscape when your ringtone woke you up Sunday morning. It was Van, and when you picked up with an emotionless hello he didn't sound apologetic.

"Hey, love! How are you,"

You knew logically you should tell him the truth and bring it up right then and there. Don't play games, don't be passive aggressive, don't be dramatic. You were too hurt though, and any logic was clouded by that hurt. 

"I'm fine, you?" It hurt even more when he didn't seem to notice your mood. 

Afternoon tea with his parents was good - you loved them dearly - and somehow you managed to avoid talking about Van. An incredibly rare feat around Bernie, to be honest.

Van called again Tuesday morning from the airport he was departing from. "Can't wait to see you, babe. I miss you," he told you. You missed him too, but you were scared about how the reunion would turn out.

…

When a knock on the door signified Van's arrival at your flat your skin started to feel all prickly. You let him in, and he immediately picked you up in a bear hug and carried you back inside. He kicked the door closed behind him. He ungraciously dropped you onto the couch and slid onto the floor in front of you. His smile faded when he looked at your face.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" You watched his face search for answer in yours. The possibilities were ticking over in his mind, but he couldn't come to the right conclusion. When you didn't answer, "Love, you're stressin' me, what's wrong?"

The concern in his voice made you feel guilty, which made you angry. You wanted resolution, you wanted to not be so upset about a birthday. But it was more than that, it was not the missed birthday, it was the forgotten birthday. You stood up and ran your fingers through your hair. He was still kneeling at your feet.

"I've done something, haven't I?" he suddenly realised. He stood up and took a step back, giving you room to breathe; space to feel. "Babe… I…" He looked lost. Really fucking lost. You started to cry.

"You don't know?" you asked, even though you knew the answer. He shook his head and you started to cry harder. Van moved towards you, an immediate reaction. You moved away, holding your hands up in a signal that meant stop. He waited patiently while you paced the room. "Um, you… It was… Friday was…"

"Fuck!" he yelled, making you jump. "Your birthday. I forgot your fucking birthday," he started to walk towards you, "Babe, I'm so fucking sorry. So. Fucking. Sorry. Please." He pulled you into his arms, but you didn’t hug back. Your arms were stuck between your chest and his. He was rocking side to side and holding you a little too tight. This was how he self-comforted. "Those last few days were crazy, and I… Fuck… Doesn't matter. I'm sorry, please let me make it up to you!" He took your face in his hands. His eyes were glassy with tears, but you knew none would fall. He moved his thumbs gently across your cheeks to wipe away your tears.

You tried to process and take a second to just think, but your head was foggy with emotion still. You pushed Van away and went to the bedroom door. He watched you with a look of pure angst on his face. "I know I shouldn't be this hurt," you whispered,"but I am. I think maybe you should go. I want to be alone right now."

"You've been alone for ages. I'm sorry. Please, Y/N," he was all but begging. You stopped looking at him then and shook your head. You took the painful step backwards into your room and closed the door between you. You put your headphones on and turned your sleep playlist up to the loudest possible volume. You cried into your pillow and pretended that it didn't feel like your heart was slowly melting in a vat of acid.

…

The bedroom door opened with too much force as you pulled it towards you. Van fell backwards onto your feet. He'd been sitting against it. You stared down at him. He looked back up at you, waiting.

"Were you there all night?" you asked. He nodded. You wouldn't have heard him leave because of the headphones, but you had assumed he did. Of course he didn’t. He sat up and shook out hair with his fingers, then stood. He walked into the kitchen and turned the kettle on. "Van?" He looked at you nervously and licked his lips.

"I'll make you tea," he replied. 

"Okay, but…"

"I know. I fucked up. You're angry, and I promise I'll fix it,"

"I was angry, but I'm not anymore. I'm hurt,"

"God that is so much fucking worse. I'll fix this." His voice was shaking.

"No, Van, look, I don't want anything to happen now. It will be weird and I don't need, like, gifts or anything. I had a cake and it was like a pinata with all these M&Ms, and Daisy gave me all these amazing books before she left, and I saw your parents on Sunday and they got me a necklace and I'm good. I don't need anything. Just… we can just forget it,"

"I'm your boyfriend, I should-"

"Yeah, I know. But it's weird. Please, just leave it."

God, he looked defeated, and you felt exhausted. He licked his lips again and nodded. You mirrored that action and breathed out. You stood for a few seconds, figuring out what you wanted, or needed. You leant into the door frame and closed your eyes. You heard Van move, and then he was in front of you. His hands were on your hips, where they hesitated. When you didn't push them away, they snaked their way under your shirt and slowly moved up and down your back. You let your head drop forward to rest on his shoulder.

"I love you so much, Y/N," he whispered next to your ear.

"I know. I love you too. I also love food, and I am very hungry," you replied. Van chuckled and let go. You opened your eyes and watched him raid the fridge and start to pile ingredients onto the bench. He turned the radio on and poured the tea.

As the wooden spoons became caked in smashed avocado, and the sink became a makeshift bin for egg shells and the gross slimy baby spinach leaves that you refused to eat, all the angst lost its space in your mind. It was the first time Van had ever fucked up, so it was bound to hurt. But, the scar tissue was already knitting together and the kitchen was filled with warmth and love. As you saved the food from being doused with cumin, which is not the same as paprika, you felt the world realign.


End file.
